


Stille Nacht

by kimenem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17200688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimenem/pseuds/kimenem
Summary: Dean awakes cold, bound and alone.





	Stille Nacht

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jet44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jet44/gifts).



> For the SPN Xmas gift exchange. Jet44, I hope you enjoy a slice of hurty, angsty kidnapping and rescue! Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

Dean returns to awareness with a jolt. He goes from blissful darkness to blinding pain in a split second. A strangled gasp is out before he can restrain it, but he manages to keep his eyes shut. Giving away his return to consciousness is a rookie mistake. His head is pounding with a fierceness he’s not felt in a long, long time. His leg - he narrows in on his right thigh - is throbbing and hot. Though it was a fast coming-to, it’s a slow road to understanding. He can feel a cold floor beneath him. Then his hands, mostly numb and tied tight behind his back, add to a multitude of discomfort. Shoes gone, his bare feet are a chilling contrast to the heat of his leg.

Willing himself to pull it together, Dean tries to still his breathing and draw his mind away from the pain and figure out what’s happening. There’s bright light filtering in through his still closed eyelids. No distinct smells. No noise of anyone around. So he takes a chance and opens his eyes. There’s no one. As far as he can see there’s white tile surrounding him floor to ceiling. Metal chair. Not much space. Everything is cold and clinical - like a cell. 

Knowing he’s alone is a small comfort for the moment. He can take some time to collect himself. But his head is pounding more than seems reasonable. And he can hardly move given his restraints and his leg. But he’s not about to continue being prone on the floor - it’s a position of weakness. 

“Suck it up, Winchester,” he mutters to himself, his rough voice breaking the silence. So he shuffles and shifts and gasps until he’s sitting up, his back now against an equally white and cold wall with his legs splayed in front of him. With a new perspective of his space, he can now see the seam of a door barely visible in one of the walls. No door handle. No windows. Nothing. His unease and confusion only grows. 

But even more confusing than the now, is the before. What the hell happened? His jeans are stiff like they had been recently wet but dried out and one entire leg is stained with his blood. From what he can tell, he obviously took a bullet to the front of his leg, and there doesn’t appear to be an exit wound. A makeshift bandage, a rag really, is tied around his thigh. He doesn’t recognize the cloth. And it wasn’t done with much care or concern. The wound is still seeping but not actively bleeding. And it aches fiercely, the heat making him think he’s been unconscious long enough for the bullet to start causing problems. Though he can’t see or reach to feel his head, he can tell he must have taken a blow that knocked him senseless. 

‘Come on, Dean, just breath for a minute’ he admonishes himself. After a few deep inhales and exhales, his fuzzy mind starts piecing together the events of the last few hours.

*****************

“I don’t understand the merits of viewing a baby chicken and whatever you deem a ‘flick’ to be,” Castiel muses as they enter the movie theater as trio. Sam and Dean shake off a dusting of snow from their jackets and stomp their feet. 

“It’s ‘chick flick’, Cas. And the merits include watching Dean squirm,” Sam says, delighted to be inflicting this torture on his brother and friend. “Besides, I won the bet, I get to choose the movie and y’all can suck it.” 

“Sam, so help me God, next time I get to pick the movie you’re going to be sitting through whatever film I can find that has the most killer clowns in it. And I’m going to tie you to the seat,” Dean huffs out with a grunt. 

They line up for tickets while Dean continues to grouse. The lobby of the theater is playing Christmas music a bit too loud, a strangely jazzy version of Silent Night. Dean’s eyes widen and he snaps his fingers. “Shit, I forgot the M&M’s in the car.” He turns to head back outside.

“You know you’re not supposed to bring your own snacks in,” Sam reprimends Dean. 

“Well, I like to live on the wild side. Sue me.”

Dean pushes through the glass doors of the theater, out into the frosty, damp air. Heading toward Baby, he fishes his keys out of his leather jacket pocket. Given the late night showing, most other movie-goers had already cleared out from the small-town theater, and the small parking lot is almost empty. As Dean unlocks the driver’s door, he hears the crunch of a shoe on asphalt right behind him - a second too late. Then a body is too close, in his space, forcing him forward belly first onto the still-closed car door, all the breath pushed out of his chest at the abrupt force.

Quickly, instincts kick in. He swings his elbow back with all the strength he can. It’s not enough. There’s barely a grunt from the solid mass behind him. In fact, rough hands pull Dean back about two feet, then, with a force that is definitely not human, push him back to the car so fast that Dean’s head rushes forward and bounces off the edge of the roof. Stars circle in his vision, and he knows when he’s outmatched, by what’s probably a demon. So Dean stills, tries to steady his vision, knowing that Sam and Cas will surely get a feeling that something’s wrong and come any second. Any second now. 

“The infamous Dean Winchester.” A velvety voice behind him, too close, speaks into his ear. “I thought this would be more of a challenge.” A mocking laugh grates on Dean’s nerves. But the body eases the pressure on Dean just enough for him to haul in a breath.

“Sam! Cas!” Dean shouts toward the doors of the theater. But he can see through the glass, a small fuzzy outline of the two men, still standing and talking, waiting for Dean. 

This time, hands haul him back, but instead of slamming him against the car again, he’s tossed to the ground where he lands in a freezing puddle. Dean rolls, survival instinct once again flaring, and as he pops up, he reaches behind his jacket for his gun. 

A ‘zip’ is all Dean hears, and then he’s flat on the ground staring at the stars above. It takes his brain a few seconds to catch up. His body reacts first, starting to curl up in on itself, his arms reach down to grasp his right thigh. Then body, brain, and pain all get on the same page, and he’s in a world of hurt. 

Gasping, Dean looks up to see three men with black eyes standing above him. Of course it would be demons. One holds a gun with the distinct outline of a silencer attached, still smoking. 

“Wish we had time to find out what all the fuss is about, but we’re on the clock, so we had to make this quick,” the man, indicating the gun in his hand. The other two haven’t said a word. They are in suits and jackets. Dean guesses they are just poor schmucks who left work late and were unfortunate enough to inhale black smoke. 

The shooter turns to address the suit to his left, “Get him in the van.” Just then a van speeds into view and screeches to a halt in front of them. Dean is living a cliché movie and all of a sudden, he’s pissed. Another suit jumps out, and together the goons descend on Dean. He knows fighting them will not end well, but all he needs to do is delay things enough for Sam and Cas to notice something is up. Rescue is how the good cliché movies end, right?

Dean swings up at the first one who comes at him, but the man easily dodges his attempt. Another kicks him in the ribs and he loses his breath as he’s flipped to his stomach. When another steps down on Dean’s injured leg, his vision goes white at the intensity of the pain radiating from the wound and he grits out a scream between clenched teeth. While his whole being is focused on the source of his pain, another goon grabs his hands and tie them at his back. Another roughly disarms Dean, pulling the gun out of his jeans, knife out of his boot, and tosses the weapons to the side. After another solid fist to the head, Dean feels like a puppet with its strings cut. 

Together they haul Dean up and over the few feet into the van. With no grace or finesse, he tumbles into the empty space, and the door slams shut behind him. More smoke is released from the suits, leaving the shooter and just one suit who rides with Dean in the back, while one drives the van out of the parking lot. Distantly, Dean thinks he can hear shouting and the firing of a gun. Then the pain and darkness overtake him and there’s nothing. 

*****************

As things come together for Dean, his thoughts turn to the why. Could it be demons who want to make a name for themselves? That’s an obvious guess. Revenge from someone he pissed off? That’s the more probable option. Dean had no clues yet. Except his abduction was well planned and the gun means it was someone with some smarts. The usual suspects just have their fists or knives. 

Without much to go on and nothing to take his mind off his discomfort, Dean’s concussion and blood loss start to take its toll. He’s fading in and out of consciousness when the door to his confines finally opens. 

The man who enters doesn’t look remarkable. He’s carrying a water bottle and nothing else. He’s just some middle aged guy who could be anyone. Dean doesn’t recognize him and the man gives nothing away. 

“Ah, Dean Winchester. Nice to finally meet in you in the flesh. Or, in my case, in some local’s flesh,” the man says as his eyes flick to black. 

“Yeah, well, the pleasure is all mine. You’ve been such a great host so far,” Dean grunts out. 

“I plan to up my game, don’t you worry. Wouldn’t want to get a bad review on Yelp. Here, will this help?” He offers the water bottle to Dean, but when he refuses, the bottle is placed on the ground next to Dean and the man sits in the metal chair. “Keep it for later, then.”

“You think I’m stupid enough to drink that?” Dean asks. 

“Of course you won’t. You’re a skilled hunter. You know to be wary of anything I give you or say or do. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a man of your reputation.”

“Then can we skip this song and dance and get this show on the road? I’m cold and bleeding. And my brother and an angel will be showing up any minute,” Dean says, more confidently than he feels. 

“I know you want to believe that, Dean. But I’m afraid you’re mistaken. They won’t be able to rescue you this time. You’re far too predictable and I’m far too smart to let that happen,” the demon smoothly states. 

“Man, you think you know me? Know us? You obviously don’t know my brother. And Cas- he stormed hell for me. What makes you think they won’t find me? I don’t know what this is about, but you obviously don’t know shit,” Dean says angrily.

“You misunderstand me, Dean. You see, you’re right. They will find you. Eventually. But not in time. I’m afraid they’ll be too late.”

“That means they will find you, pal. And they’ll make you suffer.” Dean puts as much heat as he can into the statement. 

The demon gives a saccharine smile. “Oh, sweetie, I’m touched that you’re concerned about me. But you obviously don’t know me either.”

Dean is growing faint and tired and desperately wants to get to the point. “Why?” he finally asks. 

“Does it matter why?” The demon questions. “Do you want me to monologue and tell some sob story about how you killed my daddy? Or my lover? Is it revenge, love, or am I just plain evil? Well, sorry to disappoint. You never knowing why is part of the fun.” Rising from his chair, the man seems giddy with delight. “And when your dear brother and sweet angel come for you, how about I tell them why? Just before I kill them. Wouldn’t that be poetic?”

“If you lay one finger on them…”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the threats and the ‘so help me, God’. Since you are so curious, I’ll give you all the time you need to keep pondering. In fact, I’ll give you all the time you have left in your very short life.” The demon rises and slides to the door and turns to give Dean one last look. With a wave of his hand, the door opens and he leaves. The door shuts and Dean is alone.

Alone. 

For hours. For days. He loses track. The lights stay on, the temperature stays cold, and there’s not a sound to be heard. No one comes. No one brings food. The raging fever he develops is his only companion, bringing with it haunted dreams filled with his fears and failures. The water bottle taunts him and eventually he can no longer refuse. But with his hands behind his back and hardly any energy, it’s almost impossible to open. Eventually Dean is able to contort enough to open it, and then has to bend down and lift it with with only his teeth. It doesn't taste drugged, but there’s no guarantee, and he has no choice. Precious water is wasted during in his fumbling attempts. But it’s enough at least to parch his desperate thirst for the time being.

Dean continues to fade in and out as time passes, agonizingly slow. The water is soon finished, and no one brings any more. There’s no toilet and Dean doesn’t have use of his hands. He had to relieve himself long ago by now and it only adds to the frustration, humiliation, and discomfort. And it becomes horribly apparent that whoever has him doesn’t need him healthy. They don’t intend to keep him alive. 

Dean stops wondering why and starts thinking of Sam. Where is he and what is he doing? Is he okay? Is he approaching this with his brain or his heart? Is he going to rush in trying to save Dean and get himself killed? Will Cas be able to sense his location or is this place warded? After all they’ve been through, after all Cas has done to keep Dean safe and alive, there’s no way he’d let some asshole demon get the best of him. Will they really not get here in time? Will this really be how he dies? 

Dean can’t stop his bleak thoughts from turning even darker. His stomach is hollow, his leg is on fire, his head pounding, his thirst is its own kind of torture. Here lies Dean freaking Winchester, and he’s going to die slowly, alone, and sitting in his own filth. It’s not how he wants to go. He was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory, making sure to get in the last word. His death should have purpose, right? But most of all, in this moment, he just wants to see his brother one last time. 

He tries to fill the silence with his own voice. After a few off-key Zeppelin classics, the stupid jazzy Silent Night earworm from the theater won’t leave him alone until he relents and hums along. 

Dean assumes it’s just a hallucination when he starts to hear Sam’s voice. He can’t make out the words yet. But then there is shouting. And now gunfire. The commotion outside increases. It’s disorienting after such a long stretch of silence, Dean almost can’t process it fast enough and the sounds don’t seem to be stopping. 

When Cas’s voice joins, Dean feels a spark of hope. But he can’t find the energy to stoke the flame. Soon the sound is too loud, and he just wants it to stop so he can slip away into something more peaceful. He’s so tired. 

The door crashing open gives Dean a jolt of involuntary adrenaline and he finally knows that this is real. Hands are on him and the shaggy hair of his brother is pressed in his face as he’s embraced. 

“Dean, god, I’m so sorry. Are you with me...hey….wake up, Dean,” Sam pleads while patting Dean’s cheek. 

“Sammy, you really here?” Dean asks, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Yeah we’re here. Hang on, okay? Cas is clearing the way for us. We’re going to get you out of here.” And then Sam moves Dean, shuffling him to get to his hands, working on the ropes. When Sam touches Dean’s leg, he can’t hold back his cry. 

Dean fades in and out in a confused fog of hope, fear and pain. He knows he’s being lifted and carried and moved. The disorientation of being moved makes him gag, but there’s nothing to throw up. The sound of gunshots and more shouting pierce through his pounding head. He just wants it all to stop, wants to tune all the noise out. Amidst the chaos, he begins to hum again. And then the world fades to black. 

*****************

Dean’s return to consciousness this time is more gentle. He’s warm, covered in a blanket. His right hand is resting on top of the covers and an IV snakes up to a bag hanging above him. Sam is sitting in the chair next to him, face in his hands, looking close to nodding off. 

“Sammy,” Dean tries to say, but it comes out as a unintelligible croak. 

Sam is alert and in Dean’s space in a heartbeat, giving Dean water from a magic straw that appeared out of nowhere. Or, Dean is still not fully with it. Dean guesses that’s more realistic than a magic straw. 

“What happened?” Deans tries to speak and this time is more successful. 

“You were taken. From the theater,” Sam says, looking guilt ridden. 

“Yeah, I think I remember that much. How did you find me?”

Sam pauses and starts biting his thumb. “We almost didn’t.”

“I’m not too concerned with what almost didn’t happen, Sam. You found me, that’s what’s important. 

“No, I should have-”

“Stop it. Please, I don’t have it in me to argue with you right now. Just tell me who that guy was.”

“What guy?” Sam sounds confused.

“The guy. The demon that had me.” 

“There wasn’t a guy, not that we saw.”

“What? The guy, Sam. Black eyes, smarmy son of a bitch, looked like a regular joe, grey hair. At least the meat suit was left behind, right? He’s the one that had me there. 

“We didn’t see him, I don’t think. I’m sorry. We saw the tail end of you getting taken, but we couldn’t catch them. We finally got a lead through the video surveillance at the theater. But by the time we found the van, it was empty and those guys with the suits were already left vacated. None of them had grey hair. 

“Were they…” Dean already knows the answer but needs to ask anyway. 

“Dead.” Sam doesn’t lie. 

Dean turns his head to the wall for a minute. He’s too tired to feel much. But he’s still sorry innocent people got caught up in all of this. 

“Cas caught some intel through an angel connection,” Sam continues. “But it took time. Days. He had to promise a favor in exchange for information. You were being kept in a old abandoned mental institution.”

“Seems appropriate,” Dean interjects.

“What do you mean?” Sam questions. 

‘I thought I was going to go crazy before I died’, Dean thinks. “Nothing, just keep going, what happened?”

“Well, when we got there, it was booby trapped, the whole place. It took awhile to figure out how to get in. And we didn’t know where you were exactly. It was intense. Cas saved my hide multiple times. When we finally got close, the last trap was a group of starved vampires, and we had to get through them to get to you, and then back out. We didn’t see anyone else.”

“No one?” Dean is baffled by what he’s hearing.

“If I had to guess, it was like whoever put you in that cell thought we would die before getting to you.”

“And then I would have…” Dean doesn’t want to finish that thought. 

“But someone had to have been there, Dean, we just didn’t see them. Someone used a banishing signal right after we got you out and banished Cas. There had to be someone. We just don’t know who. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“It’s okay, not your fault. None of it is, Sam,” Dean says. 

Sam accepts Dean’s attempt to make him feel better with a nod. “I’m assuming once Cas is back in action, he’ll finish up that favor and get back to us soon. He’ll be able to heal you up. For the moment, you’re okay. Antibiotics and fluids took care of most of it. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re flying high.”

Dean sighs and hums lightly. “Hmmm….drugs are good for now. I don’t know what’s in that IV, but keep it coming.”

Sam lets out a pent-up breath. “God, Dean, you looked wrecked when we got there. I’d never seen you like that before.” 

“Don’t worry, Sammy, I’ll be back to my killer good looks in no time. And you’ll go back to being the less handsome brother.”

“Seriously, Dean, this isn’t something you can just shrug off. What happened in there?”

“Nothing.”

“Dean-”

“No, I mean it. Nothing. Nothing happened. They left me alone. Well, after they shot me and then threw me in that cell. Then it was just…. Nothing. ”

Sam just stares for a while, not knowing what to say to that. 

“It was…” Dean trails off, looking for words he can’t quite find. “I’m just thankful you and Cas showed up,” he finally says. Sam can see the weight of those words, pain showing in the tightness around Dean’s eyes. 

Then the classic Dean Winchester smirk takes over and the moment is gone. “I guess this shows you how far I’m willing to go to get out of a chick-flick, right? Maybe this will teach you a lesson.”

Sam looks dumbfounded for a second before the tension finally bleeds out of his frame.

“Asshole,” Sam says before lightly smacking Dean’s arm. “Get some rest.”

Dean can feel himself fading again, but has a nagging feeling that won’t let go of him. Or, rather, a feeling that he doesn’t want to let go of. This strange demon tried to kill him, and wanted to take Sam and Cas out, too. And Dean has no idea who he is, what his motive was, and if he’ll try again. Too much is unknown and it’s going to haunt Dean. Something isn’t right about all of this. 

“Hey, Sam,” Dean calls out. “Can you sing something? Or just hum. I just need some noise for a bit. It’s too quiet.” 

“Really? You want me to sing? You sure your fever isn’t coming back?” Sam asks, thoroughly confused. 

“It’s not rocket science. Just hum something for a few minutes.”

Sam purses his lips and hesitates but then concedes. He starts to hum the first thing that comes to him. 

A few bars in, Dean’s eyes finally close, the weight of all that has happened catching up to him. Knowing his brother is close, and Cas will be back soon, means he’s safe. Safe for now. And not alone. 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments MUCH appreciated!


End file.
